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thus use your power over the heart whose secret you have surprised. Tempt not, I implore you, the affection I have owned, and never will deny. Rather assert the generosity that belongs to you that distinguishes you, I should say, from all other men whatever-and assist a poor weak creature, struggling to do what is right;-assist her against herself!'

Ah! dearest Georgina,' replied Tremaine, what an appeal do you make! and how could I withstand it, if really there were anything wrong or unreasonable in my proposal? But why shock me by the supposition, that I would tempt that purest of hearts to anything against itself? Why imagine that I, who would lay down my life to preserve any one of your principles, on which your honour or happiness depended, would, for a selfish purpose, seek to seduce those principles, or weaken the resolution that guarded them? Be more just to the man whom you have so exalted by your dear, your delicious confession.'

"Oh! talk not to me thus,' answered Georgina. You task my weakness to withstand what you know to be your strength, and which nothing but Heaven, in whose cause I feel I am a sacrifice, can enable me to resist,-if indeed I can resist it!'

"Tremaine saw all his advantage elicited by the frankness of this speech, and to his eternal honour let it be recorded, that he did not push it in the moment when perhaps the victory would have been his.




"Reflecting an instant, he took her hand once more, and with the elevation that was at times peculiar to him, and at the same time a calmness proceeding from the sincerity of his purpose, My soft, yet noble girl,' said he, no appeal of this sort could ever be made to me in vain, even if I were not, as I am, penetrated with gratitude for your kindness, and admiration at the honesty which has disdained to conceal it. Let me not therefore endeavour to push you when off your guard, or surprise you into promises which your reason may hereafter repent. To avoid all this, and remove, indeed, from myself a temptation I cannot withstand, allow me to propose a reference of my offer to your father. In his hands even the dear prejudices of your heart in my favour will surely be safe, and should he decide for me, you cannot have a fear.'

"Georgina was penetrated to her heart at this honourable conduct. She looked at Tremaine with a confidence she had never ventured upon before. Her eyes fixed themselves upon him with an expression of affection, indeed, but so mingled with respect, that it amounted to little short of veneration. It is very certain that the world did not seem to her (with all his errors) ever to have contained a being like the person who then stood before her.

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"In truth, strange as it may appear, though nothing was less determinate than his prospect, there was no moment of his life that had ever appcared so delicious to him. Such is always the effect, when we love, of the first avowal that our love is returned. Dreading to lose it, Tremaine became absolutely afraid to meet the friend whom he at first so resolutely intended to seek. He was but a few paces off, for Tremaine had seen him loitering within call, during his conference with Georgina; yet his heart sank, when his mind inclined him to join Evelyn in the garden. Longing therefore to be alone, to hug himself as it were in the thought that he was beloved by her, whom alone of all the world he thought worth loving, and wishing besides for time

to examine himself more closely than he had ever yet done, in order to see whether he could not really in some degree approach the wishes of the adored of his heart, he fairly shrunk for the moment from his purpose, and ordering his horses to follow him, took the road on foot to his own park.

"As he passed up the avenue that led from the house, he could not help turning

to take a view of what was now so much dearer than ever to him. Georgina's chamber was in that front, and at the window at that moment, reclining with her head on her hand, and showing the whitest, and most graceful arm in the world-he beheld Georgina herself.

trast which they present to the manner of the popular author of that work.

As usual in all modern novels, there is abundance of stock material. All the subordinate characters are, in fact, of this class,-nothing can be more trite than the butlers, valets, housekeepers, retired spinsters, &c. &c. &c. of Tremaine. But Tremaine himself, Evelyn, and Georgina, are three characters fairly entitled to the praise of novelty. The first and the last of them to that of exquisite and original felicity.

There are many episodes scattered all over this novel-some of them serious, others humorous. In the delineation of social manners as they now exist, we have met with nothing better than some of the lighter sketches: indeed, one or two scenes in the second volume are quite as good as any in Sayings and Doings, touching upon ground very similar, and yet doubly amusing on account of the extraordinary con

On the whole, we can have no doubt that this work will enjoy a lasting, if not a noisy popularity, and unquestionably look forward with high hope

"Their surprise was mutually great at seeing each other again. Georgina's in particular; and he could not help returning, if only to apprise her of his intention to pass an hour or two at home, after which he would have the honour of waiting upon her again. She bowed and kissed her hand, with the grace that always so enchanted him, and while he lingered in sight, at least as long as it was necessary, often did he turn to give and receive greetings, the proofs of the mutual understanding which now informed them."

A great deal of misery follows this scene; but as no novel-reader can be at any great loss to guess what the end of all this is, we shall take leave to say

nothing of the third volume of Tre--and, to come to lesser matters, that maine, except, indeed, that few novelreaders will find in the bulk of it what they expect, and that no one will find, in any part of it, anything which he will not be greatly the better for reading. In truth, we could not quote from the volume at all, unless we quoted to a very great extent; and as to giving any idea of its contents without quo⚫tation, that is quite impossible.

he attaches a vast deal too much importance to hours of dining, and other matters of that order. He says it is ruin to dine according to the present fashion, at eight o'clock, and raves about the superiority of the "good old hours of three or four." Did it never occur to the author of Tremaine, that "A rose

[The greater part consists of dialogues on religion and scepticism. They are in general ably and admirably written, but we think our contributor quite right in not meddling with them. We should, however, be very glad to see the matter of them taken up in a separate paper.-C. N.]

By any other name would smell as sweet ;" and that a pound of beef-steaks or cutlets, with all suitable appliances, at three o'clock, may be called Euphoni gratia, a luncheon, but comes home to the business and bosoms of men with all the substantial comforts of a dinner? Transeant cetera.

and interest to the future exertions of the amiable and accomplished person (whoever that may be) that has written it.

Nothing would have been easier than to quiz his book; but seeing real excellence in the general, we cannot stoop to waste time upon particular points of absurdity. We may, however, just hint to the author of Tremaine, that he who has few incidents, is doubly bound to have his incidents natural-and, if possible, new ;

We cannot conclude without expressing our opinion that the author of this work owes, in the meanwhile, one duty both to himself and to the public. He must take some effectual method to convince the world at large, which he cannot expect to find equally candid and indulgent as we think he will allow us to have shown ourselves, that he has had no share in the vile and degraded quackery and

puffery with which the publication of Tremaine has been attended, and something of which has even found means to intrude itself within the boards of the book. But for this last circumstance, we should have thought silence the proper course; but it, we frankly confess, appears to us to leave

a gentleman and a man of honour no alternative.

We shall be in no hurry, however, to form our final decision, for we have little doubt the fact will turn out to be, that the work has been transmitted from a foreign country.


FAIR as two lilies from one stem which spring,
In vernal fragrance sweetly blossoming,
And liker far in form, and size, and hue,
If liker could be, the Twin Sisters grew.
Each limb, each joint, each feature could compare,
Exact in one with what the other's were;
No look, no gesture, difference of mien,
Not e'en a speck distinctive, could be seen;
And like as were their outward forms design'd,
So were th' internal workings of the mind;
What could to one delight or pain impart,
Raised the same feelings in the other's heart;
Now gay with hope, and now with pity mild,
They wept together, and together smiled.
If Anna spoke, 'twas often she exprest
The thought just forming in Maria's breast;
And if Maria hasten'd to pursue

Some object, 'twas what Anna had in view.-
No wonder,-for the same maternal pang
Brought them to being, and they both did hang
On the same breast, and drew the nutrient stream
From the same fount; one cradle nestled them.
Both frolick'd in gay childhood's rapt'rous years,
Undamp'd as yet by life's maturer cares;
Close in each other's baby arms entwined,
With breast to breast, and cheek on cheek reclined,
And eyes, which beam'd infantine radiance mild,
They seem'd of Heav'n, and, cherub-like, they smiled.
Together they did roain the mead or grove,
Chasing the gilded butterfly, or wove,
Of heath-flowers wild, a wreath their brows to deck,
Or daisy-spotted garland for the neck.

And as maturer seasons o'er them came,
And stronger glow'd within pure reason's flame,
Together they would scan the mind's wide range,
And share of thought the grateful interchange;
Together Nature's volume wide explore;
Together Nature's mighty God adore.

The mountain, forest, meadow, lake, and stream,
Gave varied joy. What was the world to them,
Its pomp, its bustle, and its idle toil!
Society did their enjoyments spoil,—
They needed not its aid-a world they were
Each to the other,-Why aught else prefer?

But oft, alas! the lily, in the spring,
Even in its prime of vernal blossoming,
Struck at the root by some fell canker's fang,
Fading, its beauteous head begins to hang-


The Twin Sisters.
pure red,
So fared it with Maria; the
Soft-blended on her cheek, was seen to fade;
The tincture of her lip, of rubied hue,

Where smiles once sat, now changed to sickly blue;
No longer full of life, no longer gay,
With rapid strides came premature decay!
Her former haunts could now no longer please,
E'en the soft couch could scarce procure her ease.
There Anna closely sat, and watch'd her eye,
Aught that could soothe or aid her to supply;
All day she watch'd, and when the suff'rer slept,
Hung o'er her midnight couch, and silent wept.
To cheer her thoughtful bosom Anna tries-
"The spring again returns, bleak winter flies,
Even now the golden crocuses are seen,

And soon the woodlands will resume their green;
When you are well, delighted we shall rove

The wood-paths through, and trim the bower we love."-
"Yes, Anna, flowers will bloom, and grove, and plain,
All dormant nature spring to life again;

Grass clothe the ground, and blossoms crown the tree,
But grove or plain will bloom in vain to me!
It was my hope, that as one hour began
Our beings, one should measure out life's span,
But Heaven forbids; to murmur would be vain;
A few short years shall make us one again."

Prophetic speech! for now life's fading flame,
Faint and more faint, did animate her frame;
Around she cast her eyes of deadly hue,
On sorrowing friends, to bid a last adieu.
A parting look she gave-she could no more,
A throb-a long-drawn sigh-then all was o'er !

A thrilling pang of horrible despair

Pierced Anna's breast, and marr'd all feeling there;
Long o'er the lifeless form she silent stood,
With vacant gaze the beauteous ruin view'd;
Till her faint limbs no more her weight could stay,
And all unconscious she is borne away:
All strive to soothe and comfort her, but she
Refused all comfort-"What is life to me?"


She cried; then starting, gazed with anxious eye-
"I come! I come!-hark! 'tis Maria's
Sure they won't place her in the damp cold grave ?—
See, worms do feed on her-O mercy, save!-
But yonder's she-how changed, how wondrous fair!
And those are angel-seraphs with her there-
I thought I ne'er should meet again with you,
Give me your hand-now! now!—adieu, adieu !"

Then from her troubled frame forthwith the spirit flew.



EVER since the days of Fox, our Whig and other friends of the "liberal system" have been addressing themselves principally and almost exclusively to the lower orders. They have passed by the better classes-the educated people-in scorn, and have called upon the poor and ignorant the uneducated people-to decide on the most intricate constitutional questions, and the most complicated matters of general policy. To discover their reasons, we have only to look at what they have advocated; and to form a proper opinion of their conduct, we have only to place before us what was done by "the people" in the days of Radicalism. The general newspaper and hustings appeals, which were so potent a few years since, have lost their power, and therefore a new system is in course of establishment. This system is far more scientific and elaborate than the old one, and it will produce even greater mischiefs, if it meet with no molestation.

Our men of liberality follow a prodigious variety of callings; they are, among other things, political economists; and in this character they have contrived to separate the labourers from their employers, and to place the latter in the power of the former. The old opinion that the servant ought to be dependent upon, and under the control of, the master, is thrown to the dogs, to make way for the new and infallible one, that the master ought to be dependent upon, and under the control of, the servant. The repeal of the Combination Laws was a masterstroke in these sagacious people. It formed the mass of the labourers in the manufacturing districts of the three kingdoms, into connected associations, and rendered them not merely independent, but the masters, of their employers. While this grand first step was taking, our political economists carefully filled the labourers with the conviction that their employers were their tyrants and natural enemies; and of course no sooner were the laws repealed, than the two classes became

bitter enemies the servants became the despots of the masters.

Having thus liberated the working classes from surveillance and control having thus filled them with scorn of their employers-the next step to be taken was to put them under proper instruction; and therefore Mr Brougham supplies a scheme for the purpose. It would have been exceedingly impolitic to have given to his pamphlet its proper name-to have called it a plan for forming the labouring orders into a disaffected and ungovernable faction-consequently it bears the seductive title-"Practical Observations upon the Education of the People." It is, in respect of its ostensible object, a very sorry performance, and altogether unworthy of the talents of its author. Looked at as a scheme, it is miserably romantic and defective; and regarded as the history of an experiment, it withholds nearly all the information that could render it satisfactory. The philosopher and the statesman would be ashamed of it from its narrow, paltry, erroneous, and mischievous opinions; and the writer of genius would disown it, from its heavy, faulty, and incorrect diction. It is, however, in spirit and tendency, what every one who is acquainted with the learned gentleman's general conduct, would look for; and it is perhaps well enough calculated for promoting its real object.

We are quite sure that we are as friendly to the instruction of the working classes as Mr Brougham; and we strongly suspect that we are much more so. We, however, differ from him on almost every essential point of the subject. We cannot be ignorant that the educating of the working udults of a great nation is a thing without precedent, and on which experience throws no light, save what is abundantly discouraging. We cannot be ignorant that hitherto, whenever the lower orders of any great state have obtained a smattering of knowledge, they have generally used it to produce national ruin. We cannot be ignorant,

* Practical Observations upon the Education of the People, addressed to the Working Classes and their Employers. By H. Brougham, Esq. M.P. F.R.S. London, 1825.

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